


I Limbo, You Limbo, He-She-Me LIMBO! Limbo. Limbology, The Study of Limbo? It's First Grade, Pete.

by trickstartmonk



Series: Limbo Boy Patrick [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 04:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18066260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trickstartmonk/pseuds/trickstartmonk
Summary: “Okay, you’re a demon, alright whatever. Fine. Okay.” Pete huffs.





	I Limbo, You Limbo, He-She-Me LIMBO! Limbo. Limbology, The Study of Limbo? It's First Grade, Pete.

**Author's Note:**

> A continuation of Heaven And Hell Are Empty; This Is Limbo

"A demon.”

Patrick nods without looking up from his book.

“A  _ demon. _ ” Pete emphasises.  

He gets another nod.

“Okay, you’re a  _ demon _ , alright whatever. Fine. Okay.” Pete huffs. He purposely doesn’t cross his arms because it makes Patrick laugh and call him childish. He’s trying to be  _ serious _  here.

Patrick looks up and smiles. “Yes?” He answers, “As you’ve  _ known _  about for, what? Three weeks?” He shrugs, “It’s not like, news or anything.”

Pete grins and tries, “Yeah, but like. A demon, man. I haven’t really begged you for many explanations or whatever but. I think,” he takes a deep breath, “ I deserve some?”

He immediately ducks his head down at the counter, looks at the slate grey tabletop. He wonders if cavemen and Neanderthals used actual slabs of stone to eat off of, what our ancestors would think if they saw us imitating them so poorly and unconsciously. If they’d glower or laugh. The counter isn’t made of anything but plastic but it’s texture sure as hell looks like rock, or like it’s trying to look like it.

Pete’s been told he has a tendency to dance around subjects when he’s nervous.

He doesn’t chance a look up at Patrick, but he feels eyes on him.

Patrick mumbles, voice softer than before, “Yeah, I. Alright.” Pete hears him inhale, “Sure, fine. You can uh, ask whatever you want.”

When Pete looks up, Patrick is watching him with gentler eyes than usual. Patrick continues, “And hey, It’s not like I don’t know about  _ your  _ lineage and stuff.” He laughs. “I’ve met your parents and cousins and grandparents, all your uncles and aunts. Even the alcoholics!”

Pete giggles, “Auntie Martha went  _ hard _  on the martinis. She kept asking if you were my brother, even though you’re  _ white! _ ” He recalls.

“Honestly, why’d you even bring me? It was a family reunion, dude.”

Pete could say, ‘ _ Well, you’re my family too’,  _ or ‘ _ I like it when you’re with me’, _  or even a meek ‘ _ I like how you laugh with my mom like you’re trying to win her over, even though she’s liked you since your pale ass waltzed through our doors in a worn Journey band-tee’. _

Unsurprisingly, he says none of these. God, he’s such a romantic. Patrick would probably smack him if he knew half the shit that goes on in Pete’s head.

Instead he looks at the spot on the wall right above Patrick’s shoulder and shrugs. He mutters, “I thought you should see the Infamous-Wentz-Shenanigans.” He makes sure to smile big and show his teeth so as not to attract attention.

Patrick smiles back. Pete counts one, two, six, seven, thirteen teeth. All pearly and white, all Patrick’s and no one else’s. He wonders if it’d be possible for any pair of dentures to match Patrick so flawlessly as his real ones do. He  doubts it, they’re natural for a reason. Probably impossible to imitate. Patrick’s just cool like that, Pete decides. Unobtainably unique in most every way.

Pete’s eyes trail up Patrick’s face and are met with a questioning look. He flushes hotly and remembers that tendency to dance around subjects when he’s nervous. God.

Patrick, thankfully, gets him back on track. “So your questions…?”

“Oh! Yeah, I. Yes, okay. Um.”

Patrick arches a perfect brow.

“Uh.”

Pete says, ‘hold on’ and holds up a pointer finger to indicate ‘one second’ before he sprints off. He frantically digs into his overnight bag, necessary because they spent the night at Patrick’s.

He thinks back to only a handful of hours ago, curled into each other on Patrick’s couch in the den, safe from his parents because no one goes into the room. Far, far back of the house, dim lighting, smells like musty books, entirely too far away and depressing for the family to enjoy. However, dim lighting and nobody else spying on them? Perfect for teenage makeout sessions. Cuddling, tickling, bickering. Pete bites back a sigh, he  _ loves _  this.

(Patrick kept shifting on his back where he was pressed into the couch. When Pete had asked what was wrong and tried to shift them around, Patrick got flustered and grumbled, “nothing.” It wasn’t until he flipped them -Pete now on his back and pressed into the back of the couch with Patrick on his stomach and face tucked into Pete’s neck, body half on top of Pete- that Pete understood why he was initially uncomfortable. Patrick’s wings.

Pete had fallen asleep with Patrick’s soft snuffles in his ear, chest to chest, and the feeling of silky black feathers occasionally brushing his skin when they breathed.)

Now, he stops throwing things out of the bag when he finds it; a yellow notebook with a skull on the front. He stuffs everything but it back into his bag and runs back out to Patrick.

He’s panting and just opening his mouth to say, “He-Here. It. Whew. Is.” Without looking up, he turns to the last page he used, somewhere around the halfway mark in the notebook. He announces his question, of which he has a list  _ full  _ of and starts off strong with, “You’re a demon. But how do demons fit in with  _ my  _ perception of demons. Are you like, full on biblical? What’s up with that?”

But when he looks up, for answers and whatnot, he is met with an empty house.

(About two weeks ago, Patrick told him he could technically vanish when he wants to, as long as he has a clear image in his mind of the location he wants to be at.

Pete’s spent these last two weeks playing a messed-up game of ‘hide and seek’ wherein Patrick flees when anything remotely not-fun happens. It’s been rough.)

Pete huffs and lets out a frustrated groan.

Fucking Patrick. Patrick and his stupid enigma identity. Patrick and his weird inability to open up. Patrick Patrick Patrick.

Whatever. Pete closes the notebook and goes to the kitchen to make a sandwich. It’s not the first time this has happened, nor the last.

He makes PB&J and sits at the table, where warm liquid light is streaming through. As he bites into the bread, he jots down little phrases and ideas in the notebook. Some observations, the usual.

When he hears light, questioning footsteps approach at about six feet away and seemingly out of thin air, he simply continues writing. Without looking up or acknowledging Patrick, he kicks the chair out beside him.

Patrick takes the hint and sits in it.

It’s a mostly peaceful silence they sit in, and the dark wood of the table is reflective and blood warm. Pete’s back feels kinda sweaty, he knows that the sunbeam is hitting him, and he can’t help but look at Patrick.

Patrick is slumped on the table, playing with the plate Pete finished about half an hour ago. He’s resting his chin and cheek on his right hand, body at utter ease, and Pete thinks he looks very pretty. The sun illuminates his eyelashes and makes him look a warm light. Strands in his hair look gold, and Pete thinks to last night, how vulnerable Patrick must’ve felt with his wings out and body burrowed into Pete. How young he looked in the glow of the TV, how sweet his tiny snores were.

Pete thinks about how much Patrick has let him in these past three weeks, all the tiny little things that Patrick doesn’t dare show anyone. How lucky Pete must be, how new this is for Patrick, too.

Pete imagines having a secret like Patrick did, something as shocking as being a demon (or at least part? He’s still mucky on the details,) and can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been not telling anyone. No one to share it with.

Pete sort of wants to begrudge Patrick for his fear of addressing these things and his tendency to run away, but he can’t. Patrick may get scared, run away.

But he came back. He comes back.

Pete looks at Patrick and closes his notebook.

The questions can wait a bit.

Pete himself has a tendency to dance around the topics he's scared of, distract so he doesn't have to actually think about something, and he realizes he and Patrick aren't all that different.

Patrick will get there, he will, Pete's sure of it.

Until then, Pete's fine being that encouraging shove. 

**Author's Note:**

> yo some ppl really liked my first one! Thank you, guys! I'm thinking i'll do a bunch of these lil' shorts, tiny glimpses into their relationship (some longer than this I promise) bc I like it too! as always, feedback and comments are greatly appreciated!


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